name.
“No, he didn’t,” he repeated. “But he is in prison for voluntary manslaughter.”
“What?” I practically flew across the room to get a good look at the screen. “He
“Well, he was fourteen years ago. Okay,” Glitch said, semi-reading aloud, “‘Frustrated with the authorities’ reluctance to pursue an anonymous tip, Mac McAlister tracked down the people whom he believed had kidnapped his wife.’”
Brooke was glued to Glitch’s other side and even Cameron was vying for some space to see what was going on. She pointed to the screen farther down the article. “‘In the gunfight that ensued, McAlister killed…’ Oh my gosh, twelve people.”
“‘He was shot numerous times,’” Glitch continued, “‘yet continued to search for his wife when the firing ceased.’”
Brooke interrupted again. “‘After the smoke had settled, twelve people lay dead with McAlister not far behind, but a passing vehicle heard the gunfire and called the police.’”
Glitch read, “‘Authorities arrived on the scene to find several dead bodies and McAlister unconscious and barely breathing. He had his wife cradled in his arms. She had been dead for hours.’”
I covered my mouth with my hands, the image the article evoked so heartbreaking, so agonizing.
Brooke looked at me, searching my reaction, her eyes wet with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Lor.”
“‘One thing the investigators noted as an anomaly was that every member of the group that neighbors referred to as a cult was unusually tall,’” said Glitch.
Brooke jumped to read. “‘Unusually tall.’” She looked back at me. “Do you think they were descendants?”
“Maybe,” I said, still stuck on the image of my grandfather holding my grandmother’s dead body in his arms.
“If so, Lor, we need to bring this up to your grandparents.”
“Wait a minute,” Glitch said, reading on. “It happened in northern New Mexico. Your grandfather is in prison here.” He looked at me, stunned. “He’s been here this whole time.”
I awoke to the sound of my own labored breathing as I tried to catch my breath. Fire had consumed my lungs as they begged for air. With dry gasps, I fought to provide it. It was the usual, of course. And yet, the dynamics of the dream were changing. I was beginning to welcome the demon inside. To swallow him with pleasure, his presence both strange and familiar at once. The thought of the demon inside me becoming a welcomed guest disturbed me on several levels.
“You do that a lot,” Cameron said, straightening up from his perch on the window seat. I’d forgotten to turn off the lamp on my desk and I could see his shadowy figure clearly. His eyes were hooded with weariness, making him look like he’d just woken up, which was good. Maybe he’d actually slept.
“I know.” I placed a hand over my chest and tried to slow my breathing. “I’ve been having nightmares.”
“Me too. Mostly about short chicks ordering me around like they own the world.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You can’t be talking about me. I hardly ever order you around, and I don’t own even an inch of this world.”
He grinned and cast a quick glance toward the bossy short chick who was blinking awake as we spoke.
“Are you awake?” Brooklyn asked me through a yawn.
“No.”
“Me neither. Did you get any sleep?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I am just so floored by everything,” she said, sitting up in her bed. She looked over at
Cameron as he sat on the window seat, gazing out the window.
I glanced at the digits glowing atop my nightstand. Three o’clock. In the morning. I didn’t even know three o’clock in the morning existed. I thought it was a myth. Like mermaids and snowballs in hell.
“You snore,” Cameron said to Brooke without turning around.
“Okay, I may have slept a little, but I don’t snore. And how can you just sit there all night without crashing?” she asked him.
He finally turned to her. “I slept a little too, but I don’t need as much sleep as you do.”
“Oh, right. I keep forgetting. Well, I’m okay now. It’s your turn for the bed. I’ll take watch.”
With a soft smile, he said, “I’d feel a bit safer with me on point, but thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
A thought occurred to me as I sat hallucinating due to lack of oxygen in my dream. “I wonder how Mr.
Davis is doing after today. And the creature whose name shall not be spoken aloud.”
“No kidding,” Brooke said. With everything that had happened, those two must have slipped her mind as well. “What do you suppose he thinks?”
“Do we care?” Cameron asked.
I shrugged. “Sure. Well, about Mr. Davis anyway. But Tabitha did seem pretty freaked out.”
“Thank goodness her parents are with the Order,” Brooke said. “They’ll know how to help her, what to tell her.”
I nodded. “Right. She’s been through a lot.”
Brooklyn gaped at me.
“Well, you know, what with Jared making out with her, then trying to kill us all. But what about Mr.
Davis? He already suspects Jared.”
“Suspects him for what?” Cameron said. “For killing his brother a thousand years ago? Whoever that was would have aged. He can’t possibly know anything.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I scrutinized him with a dubious expression. “You mean besides the fact that both you and Jared have superhuman abilities? He was there, Cameron. He saw what I saw.”
“His mind will create a scenario that’ll fit with his interpretation of events. Most likely, we were both on some mind-altering drug that gave us super strength.”
I had serious doubts it would be that easy this time, but who was I to argue?
“What is that sound?” Brooke asked, squinting into the darkness outside.
“It’s rain,” I said. “And wind. Again.” I sat up and placed my back against the headboard. “So, what is going on, Cameron? I mean, really? Too many strange things are happening at once. Like a convergence of bizarre activities.”
“I think it’s beginning.”
“What?” Brooke asked. “That war thing you guys keep talking about?”
My stomach lurched just thinking about it. I didn’t want a war. Especially not one that relied heavily on my abilities to stop it. Unless I could convince the invading army to stand still long enough for me to get a vision off it, we were toast. Whole wheat. Extra crunchy.
Then again, what good would a vision do us? I was no Joan of Arc, that was for sure. She may have led men into battle, but I was more of a “lead the school choir in a moving rendition of ‘One Hundred
Bottles of Beer on the Wall’” kind of girl.
“If you weren’t stuck guarding me,” I said to Cameron, “you could hunt down that new kid, Vincent, and find out what’s going on.”
“I don’t believe in that game,” he said.
I frowned. “What game?”
“The what-if game. There only is.”
“Okay, Mr. Miyagi,” Brooke said. She sank back into her blankets. “I still think you should get some rest and let me take point for a while.”
The expression on his face turned to one of horror. “And just what would you do if something happened? Moon the enemy?”
“What enemy, exactly?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
I had a feeling he knew precisely what I was asking, but I humored him anyway. “I mean, you and
